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“They don’t.” He grins smugly. “I reserve my attitude for only those who deserve it. Now—”
“And what did I do to piss your royal highness off enough to deserve the attitude?” I ask, grinning gleefully as I cut him off.
“Watch yourself, Warner,” he growls, cutting me with a scathing glare. “You might have a connection to the leader of the majors, but I’m still your ranking officer. You speak to me with respect, or you don’t speak to me at all, is that understood?”
I place my hand in front of me and check my nails, grimacing at the dire state of my cuticles. Are there any nail salons in Ethereal, or am I going to have to spend the rest of eternity—
“I asked you a question,” Dion barks, his face reddening as I frown back at him. I let my hand fall back to my side and tilt my head in confusion.
“I thought you said not to talk to you if I can’t do so respectfully, blah, blah, blah.”
“Warner,” he growls in warning, the crease between his brows going even deeper as he glares at me.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll speak to you respectfully.”
“Good,” he huffs and smooths out his training uniform of a loose-fitting black shirt and forest green shorts, as though I’d literally ruffled his feathers. But, of course, that’s not the case because mister perfect Dion would never allow a feather to be out of place.
His large snowy, white wings spread behind him as though he’s shaking out the tension before he folds them tightly against his back.
“Now the first move to a good offense is...”
“A good defense,” I repeat the lines he first spewed about an hour ago, making sure to put exactly zero enthusiasm into it.
His lips purse, but he continues, apparently not rising to my goading this time. It seems my distraction technique is failing.
“And how do we form a good defense?”
“By getting a shield,” I say, my chest puffing out as though I actually believe I got the right answer.
“No,” he grumbles. “By learning how to block an incoming attack.”
“Oh, my mistake.” I do my best to cover the laughter that bubbles up as his eyes narrow on me, but I really don’t do that good of a job if his growl of annoyance means anything. I doubt it does.
“Now show me how you would block an incoming punch.”
I swing my arm upwards like he taught me the last time, putting little to no effort into it.
“If I’m going to punch you, do you really think that’s going to stop me?”
“Probably not.” I shrug, not really caring.
“Then put some effort into it.” The wind ruffles through his shoulder-length dirty blond hair, making the asshole look like he should be in a damn shampoo commercial or something.
Dammit, Nelle. He’s not hot, he’s an asshole.
That’s a lie, he’s hot, and he’s an asshole. I swear, before he opened his mouth I would’ve signed on the dotted line and let him whisk me off to wherever the hell he wanted to take me. But then he justhadto talk.
“Okay,” I groan and repeat the movement, nearly twisting my wrist with just how much effort I put into it.
“You’re hopeless,” he groans. “Fine, what about if I tried to kick you? What sort of block would you use?”
I wave my wrist, trying to make the sharp pain fade before I perform the next one. I swing my arm lower as though I’m sweeping away a foot aimed at me.
I wish I was sweeping away an ass that’s staring at me right now.
“I don’t understand what your problem is.” He takes a step towards me, his lip curled in disdain as though he knows it’s my personal mission in life to piss him off.
Well, I guess it kind of is right now.
